5 times John lost something
by solauzish
Summary: And 1 thing he gained. Warning for eventual slash.
1. Chapter 1

Title: 5 times John lost something  
Chapter Summary: The dog called Toby

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When John Watson was six years old his parents had brought home a stray dog; the dog had been both dangerously thin and covered in fleas. Mrs Watson had found and took pity on the scrawny animal. Unable to leave it out in the cold and rain for a moment longer she'd brought it home.

John had immediately shied away from the strange-looking creature. He examined it's matted fur and protruding bones from behind the safety of his father's legs.

"Don't be scared," His mother had said, offering him a warm smile.

"Not scared," John had replied defiantly. He watched as Harry began prodding the dog, out of the corner of his eye.

Mr Watson had merely tutted at his daughter's behaviour. While most young girls liked to experiment with make-up and dress in pretty pink dresses, Harriet Watson demanded to be called 'Harry' and wore dungarees.

"Harriet, _darling_," Mrs Watson warned with an exasperated sigh.

"You know, we still need to give this little guy a name," Mr Watson quickly intervened before Harry could throw a tantrum over being called Harriet.

The distraction worked well; Harry began shouting a selection of names at her parents, barely pausing for breath between each one. "Butch! Spike! Killer!" Mr and Mrs Watson shared a look of concern at her choice of names but smiled encouragingly.

"What about you, John? What do you think he should be called?"

John shrugged. He had always been the calm one when compared with his boisterous sister. "I like the name Toby," He finally replied.

By the end of the night Toby was part of the family.

By the end of the year Toby was gone again.

Mr Watson had left the door open for just a second too long upon arriving home from work and Toby had ran straight out into the busy road...

John and Harry were told that Toby was in a better place. They'd later discover the 'better place' was, infact, the local pet cemetary.

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**1/6**


	2. Chapter 2

Title: 5 times John lost something  
Chapter Summary: His mum, dad and his sister.

* * *

John had been seventeen years old when his parents died. Harry had been eighteen, now legally permitted to consume the alcohol she'd been downing in secret over the past few years. John had told his parents he planned to go to medical school and then later he'd become a doctor, they'd been overcome with pride.

"Oh John that's _brilliant_, darling!" His mother had gushed happily.

Mr Watson had given him a small pat on the back before turning to face Harry. "What about you, then?"

Both Mr and Mrs Watson smiled encouragingly at their eldest daughter. How were they to know that her answer would wipe the smiles clean off their faces?

"I'm...I'm a lesbian. I've got a girlfriend called Ellie, I really think you'll like her..."

Harry had cut herself off suddenly. She bit down on her bottom lip nervously as she glanced between her parent's horrified expressions. John frowned, he'd known then that it was going to be a very long night.

He'd been right; for the next few hours his rebellious sister had fought against disapproving parents. She screamed and wept until eventually she could do neither.

"We're going out," Mr Watson had then announced, grabbing the keys to the car and a jacket before opening the front door.

"Look after one another," Mrs Watson had ordered with a forced smile. She didn't wait for a response but turned on her heel and followed her husband.

John and Harry would later receive a phone call telling them of their parents death. John would refuse to cry infront of his sister, but in private he would cry an awful lot. Harry wouldn't cry at all, wouldn't even seem to react, she would just reach for a nearby bottle of wine and sit staring into space.

John would later attend medical school but he wouldn't become a hospital doctor like he'd always assumed he would be. Instead he would find himself in Afghanistan, treating injured soldiers.

Harry would break up with Ellie and find her only company to be misery and a bottle of vodka.

John felt that he hadn't just lost his parents that night- but his sister too.

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**2/6**


	3. Chapter 3

Title: 5 times John lost something  
Chapter Summary: The soldier with sandy hair

* * *

"It bothers you still," Sherlock stated suddenly without taking his eyes off the latest of his experiments.

John had seen a lot and learnt a lot during his time in Afghanistan but hadn't spoke of it with anyone since his return. The memories were too raw and the sound of warfare and death still haunted his dreams most nights. He furrowed his brow and looked up from the newspaper he'd been reading in silence for the past hour. Well, at least he'd been pretending to read it, his thoughts had been in a much darker place.

"What does?" John asked calmly, deciding to play dumb.

Sherlock frowned and, abandoning about his experiment for now, he focussed his icy blue eyes on his flatmate.

"You've been staring at the same page in that newspaper for the past hour. The average adult reads somewhere between 200 and 250 words per minute. Unless there are over 12,000 words on that one page - and I highly doubt there are - I'd guess you've been lost in thought for the past hour and not reading," Sherlock accused.

John pursed his lips. "I could just be an extremely slow reader," he countered before turning to the next page in his newspaper, his expression that of a petulant child.

Sherlock continued his deductions ignoring John's attitude.

"Your shoulder was noticably tensed and you kept rubbing your leg repeatedly. This leads me to believe you were thinking about Afghanistan. Your expression was one of guilt and not of sadness like you'd expect meaning you did something you feel remorse for."

"Seeing as the great Sherlock can deduce everything about anyone just by looking - tell me what I did. Tell me what I did back then which was so bad it causes me guilt even now," John demanded angrily, glaring at him from across the room.

He knew it wasn't really Sherlock's fault, he couldn't help being intelligent, but knowing the Detective could easily deduce his best kept secrets was unnerving.

For a moment Sherlock looked uncertain. He knew that John was angry but he didn't understand why, not yet. John was usually the first to compliment his deductions but not now.

"Your duty was to treat injured soldiers... So you were unable to treat a soldier, then. Surely as a doctor you'd know better than to think you can save everyone? Ah, so this person must've been important to you. A close friend perhaps? Maybe even a lover?"

John winced at the harsh reality of Sherlock's words, glaring at the newspaper as though it were solely responsible for all his problems.

"Definitely a lover," Sherlock mused as he studied John's reaction.

Sherlock seemed disinterested after John refused to confirm the accuracy of his deductions. After a moment of contemplative silence he returned to his experiment and John silently left the room.

That night John dreamt of a young soldier with sandy hair and a mischievous smile, the first of many people he lost in Afghanistan.

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**3/6**


	4. Chapter 4

Title: 5 times John lost something  
Chapter Summary: John loses his phone, Sherlock comes to the rescue.

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It was late and John just wanted to get back to the flat. Sherlock had left him behind about twenty minutes ago in pursuit of a suspect. John was used to Sherlock leaving without warning and wasn't at all surprised that he'd raced off at 3am leaving John to make his own way home. Thankfully John had recognised the area he was in and it was only a half hour walk back to the flat.

He checked his phone for messages and sighed when he saw his inbox was empty.

It was typical of Sherlock not to bother to text John even though he knew the Doctor would be worried about his safety. Afterall, he had just ran after a wanted criminal with no means of defending himself...

John frowned and found himself feeling even more worried about his eccentric flatmate. He decided to take a shortcut back to the flat so he could ensure Sherlock was back safe - and if he wasn't, he'd be able to call Lestrade sooner rather than later.

Feeling considerably better John proceeded to walk through the countless dark alleys which would cut the journey time in half.

"Hello?" John's voice echoed in the alley. He could've sworn he'd heard footsteps behind him but when he'd turned there had been no-one. Great, now he was hearing things.

He heard footsteps again but this time they were closer and louder. He span round and his eyes landed on a large man, he was stumbling drunkenly down the alley with the putrid stench of vodka and smoke surrounding him. John found himself thinking of Harry as he watched the man walk stumble towards him mumbling incoherently.

"How much have you had to drink?" He asked the man, approaching him with the intention of checking his vitals.

The man had different ideas. With great accuracy he punched John square in the face knocking him back against the wall behind him.

He punched him several more times, each punch harder than the last, until John was cowering on the floor and whimpering. The man spat on the ground beside him and laughed, he was sober. John realised the drunken stumbling had been little more than an act. He wondered how many others had fallen for it.

The man took his wallet (and for once John was glad of how little money was inside it) and the second-hand phone Harry had given him before running back down the alley leaving John alone in the gutter.

He checked his injuries but there was nothing that required urgent medical attention. His nose was bleeding but not broken and a sore-looking black eye was certain but besides that he'd have nothing but bruises. John closed his eyes...

"John?" He awoke to someone shaking his shoulders urgently. "Are you alright? Answer me!"

John slowly opened his eyes and blinked up at Sherlock. "I'm fine," he frowned removing the Detective's hands from his shoulders.

"I sent you texts," Sherlock frowned as though he hadn't already deduced the entire situation. "I sent you four texts and then I sent another insulting the bastard who stole your phone."

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**4/6**


	5. Chapter 5

Title: 5 times John lost something  
Chapter Summary: John loses his keys and thinks about Sherlock. Next chapter will follow on from this.

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It was raining relentlessly. John thought it fitting that the weather was as miserable as he, himself, currently was. The sky was bleak and dismal above him. Angry grey clouds concealed any light the moon could have offered.

It was just his luck to be locked out here in the worst weather London had seen for weeks.

John sighed and sat down on the damp steps leading up to the front door of 221 Baker Street.

It wasn't the end of the world to lose a key - John knew that if he just knocked on the door Mrs. Hudson would let him in - and anyone who didn't know about his chain of bad luck would think he was overreacting.

Maybe he was overreacting a little but John couldn't help but feel that someone, somewhere had it in for him.

After that night in the alley his bad luck seemed to have progressed. Just that day someone had broken into the flat and stolen his laptop. It didn't make sense - Sherlock's laptop had been on the table in clear sight and whoever it was had ignored it and searched John's bedroom for his.

"Locked out?"

John glared up at Sherlock and nodded mutely.

Sherlock moved past him and unlocked the door. He hesitated before entering and looked down at John who'd made no attempt to move. "You shouldn't stay out here much longer," he said slowly before disappearing up the stairs and into the flat they shared.

It seemed to John that he was always losing something.

When he wasn't losing people he cared about he was losing things he cared about and when he wasn't losing either of them he was sure as hell losing something...

John found himself thinking about Sherlock.

He thought about how the man had cared enough to find him when he was missing (because no-one else had noticed) and he thought about how the man had cared enough to ask him about Afghanistan (because no-one else had ever dared to) and he wondered if - just maybe - the man cared more than he'd ever let on...

John stood up and entered 221 Baker Street, rain water dripped off his hair and clothes and left dark patches on the welcome mat.

He raced up the stairs, or atleast he limped faster than normal, and knocked on the door to 221B.

* * *

**5/6**


	6. Chapter 6

Title: 5 times John lost something  
Chapter Summary: and one thing he gained.

Author's note: I'm sorry about the last couple of chapters, it was harder than I thought to think about things John could've lost! Also the ending was cheesey but yknow what, I kinda wanted it to be. Please review!

* * *

John was nervous as he waited outside the door. He was acting with no evidence to support his assumptions and that scared him more than he'd admit.

He could be rejected, he could even be thrown out of the flat and then where would he be? He had no parents to go crawling back to, no other friends and the only possibility was a sister who was always too drunk to tell left from right. John had lost far too much in his life to lose Sherlock now.

The door opened and Sherlock was stood infront of him leaning against the door frame. "I was wondering how long it'd take for you to realise."

"I'm afraid I have no choice but to muddle along with everyone else with average intellect," John replied.

Sherlock's eyes scrutinized him for what felt like years. "You're anything but average."

John understood that they were no longer talking about intellect. "So it's true then. You're officially a sociopath that can care."

"More than I want to and more than I should," Sherlock admitted with a sigh. He reached out to wipe a raindrop away from John's face with one elegantly long finger.

John closed his eyes at the contact. There wasn't anything left to say. Sherlock leaned towards him and they kissed.

It wasn't soft, sweet or a happily ever after moment but instead it was a rough, demanding I need this moment.

They pulled away from each other with wide eyes and ragged breathing. Sherlock's fingers traced along John's jawline in a rare display of affection. "I know it's not much but you have me," he muttered, embarassed by his own choice of words.

John smiled and captured his lips for the second time.

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**6/6 The end. **


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